


Three Men In A Props Closet, One Of Them Dead

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: Canadian 6 Degrees, Slings & Arrows
Genre: Body Paint, Episode Tag, Ghosts, Screenplay/Script Format, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren visits Geoffrey in the storage room, late at night after the opening performance of <em>Macbeth</em>.  Oliver is there too, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Men In A Props Closet, One Of Them Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spuffyduds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/gifts).



> Written for spuffyduds' request/prompt: _I would love an AU in which Darren can also see Ghost!Oliver. Basically I'd just love a transcript of the three of them talking, hah! If you'd like to write Geoffrey/Darren into it that'd be fine, but not necessary!_
> 
> I decided to write this not long after last Yuletide, and jotted down some ideas and then never got around to it, but it's now or never! So here it is: a strange little bit of frivolity with not all that much point. Happy Last New Year!
> 
> P.S.: I keep editing the typos out of this and they keep showing back up, or perhaps AO3 is showing me a cached older version?

_Scene: The storage room.  Geoffrey sprawled on his back on the couch, arms and legs dangling awkwardly over the sides.  He is holding a makeshift icepack to his cheek rather distractedly.  Oliver stands behind the couch, looking down at him and speaking._

Oliver: Yes, that’s all very well, but even so, I do think you might have at least popped in to show the flag at the opening night party.  You _are_ the director, after all – well, one of the directors, the official director – and it’s rather expected of you.

Geoffrey:  I know, I know, I know, but I’ve already been hit in the face by two of my actors tonight, I think that’s enough for one evening, don’t you?

Oliver: Now, don’t be so melodramatic—

 

_[The door bursts open dramatically.  Darren stands framed in the doorway, drunk or possibly just impassioned, with his clothing all unbrac’d and his skin covered in yellow and red glow-paint, holding a pot of paint in his hand.]_

 

Darren: You see before you a new man!

Geoffrey: _[Sitting up and goggling at Darren]_   Why are you painted?

Darren: We did the Belkovsky Exercise.  It was beautiful, it was a revelation, a Spring Awakening… 

Geoffrey: Please tell me that _Romeo and Juliet_ will be performed with the actors at least partially dressed for the majority of the play.

Oliver: You’re just grouchy because you missed the fun.  Apparently.  Of course, no one invites _me_ to these things, either. . .

Darren: Ah, but that’s what I’m here for.  Geoffrey, I have had an epiphany.  You saved me from myself today, and the least I can do is to return the favor.

Geoffrey: _[Looking confusedly at Oliver, then back at Darren]_ I’m sorry, did you just-- 

Darren: You were right, Geoffrey, much as I hate to give you credit, I have to admit that you were right.  Life is teeming with passion and love and beauty and—and _life_ , and we must seize it in both hands and suck the juice out of it, for tomorrow we may be in the cold ground, but at least it’s better to have loved and lost than to wake up and find oneself a dry, bitter husk of a middle-aged man.

Oliver: That’s easy for him to say, he has no idea of what death is like. . .

Darren:  _[Advancing on Geoffrey, brandishing the paint pot]_   But I’m here to save you, whether you like it or not.  I am here to reawaken your passion, your _élan_ , your inner fire—I am here to _paint_ you!

Geoffrey: _[Flailing his hands to fend Darren off]_   Wait, wait, hold on, you’re what?

Oliver: _[Standing back watching with his arms crossed]_   Oh, come now, Geoffrey, it’s a bit late in the day to be acting like a callow virgin.  You forget we’ve both seen you at too many cast parties to count.  We know all about the sordid episodes of your past—

Geoffrey: What sordid episodes?  And this isn’t sordid, it’s just silly--

Darren:  _[Still playing feint-and-dodge with Geoffrey]_ I expect he’s referring to that time that you ended up naked and tied to Colin Elroy’s stair rails—why anyone let him host cast parties, I can’t imagine—but in any case, _sordid_ is hardly the appropriate word for it.

 

_[Geoffrey and Oliver both do a double-take.]_

 

Geoffrey: Hold on a second.  Are you talking to. . . ?

Darren:  To Oliver, yes.

Oliver: You can see me?

Darren: But of course.  I’m not blind, you know.  Nor is my vision hampered by drab, conventional expectations.   

Oliver: Well, I’ll be damned.

Darren: You don’t seem to be in any great hurry.  After all, you’re here.  New Burbage may be a fair approximation of purgatory, but if hell has no greater torments than this, one wonders what all the fuss is about.

Geoffrey:  You. . .see. . .Oliver?

Darren:  _[Nodding with exaggerated slowness]_   Yes, Geoffrey.  You appear to have grasped it.

Geoffrey: Have you been able to see him all along?

Darren: Oh yes, for ages.  He was at the _Hamlet_ table reading, where I seem to remember he helped you make rather a spectacle of yourself.

Geoffrey: And you didn't help!  You accused me of having Tourette's Syndrome!  If you knew, why didn't you say something, for God's sake?

Darren: I am famously eccentric, but I have no desire for people to think me a literal madman.  I leave that role to you.  You do it so well.

Geoffrey: I’m not sure whether this makes me feel better or worse.  If you can see him too, that probably means I’m not actually crazy.  But on the other hand I think I’d rather be crazy than share your worldview.

Darren: You’re trying to insult me so that I’ll go away and leave you alone, but I know that’s just your depression talking.

Geoffrey: Look, Darren, I know this morning you may have gotten the impression that I’m a bit depressed, but you really shouldn’t take all that as—

Darren: Oh, you’re an excellent actor, Geoffrey, you always have been, I’ll give you that. I admit I fell for your little act this morning.

Oliver: It was quite well done, wasn’t it?

Darren: He had me going for quite a while.  _[To Geoffrey]_ And you were right about me.  I was afraid of the play; I was afraid to face the emotion and the life of it.  But I’m not dead inside, Geoffrey.  I was pretending to be dead because I was afraid of being hurt and alone.

Geoffrey: Oliver, are you taking notes?  Darren just admitted I was right about something.

Darren: Yes, go ahead and gloat, I don’t mind.  You understand.  You could tell me the truth because you do understand what it’s like to be forty-mumble and know that you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone and unloved.

Geoffrey: Gee, thanks.

Oliver: _[To Darren]_ That’s not true.  He didn’t mean any of that, he was just putting on an act.  He has a heart, he feels, he’s very passionate.  _[To Geoffrey]_ Besides, you’re not unloved.

Geoffrey: _[Putting his back to Oliver and focusing on Darren]_   Look, I’m glad you’ve had your epiphany, especially if it means that you’re going to put on a _Romeo and Juliet_ that won’t cause the audience to slit their wrists out of existential boredom.

Darren: Oh, yes.  It will be sensual, lyrical, passionate—

Geoffrey: Good.  Great.  You know, that’s really all I wanted.  And I’m glad it worked out for you, and that you’re happy and don’t want to punch me—you don’t, right?  Because if you do, could you possibly wait until tomorrow?  Henry and Ellen have socked me already tonight, and I’d like to spread it out a bit.

Darren:  Oh, Geoffrey.  Geoffrey, Geoffrey, Geoffrey.

Geoffrey: Darren, do you _want_ something here, or have you just come to blither at me?

Oliver: Oh, I’d say it’s fairly obvious what he wants, but then, you always were implausibly slow on the uptake.

Darren: Oliver, you were a dirty old man when you were alive, and apparently death hasn’t altered your disposition one bit.

Geoffrey: You’re not—I mean, you don’t—?

Darren: I told you, I’m here to paint you. 

 

_[He dips his fingers into the paint and smears a stripe down one of Geoffrey’s cheeks, then the other.  Geoffrey doesn’t stop him.  He looks up at Darren while he does it.]_

_[Oliver watches.]_

 

Geoffrey:  All right.  You’ve painted me.  Is there a point to this?

Darren: Oh, for God’s sake, you can’t take it so seriously.  _That’s_ the point.

Oliver: That’s just what I’ve been trying to make him see for _days._   I mean, yes, it’s vital for the play to go well, that’s the most important thing, the only important thing, but there’s no need for him to _mope_ all the time like he’s been doing.

Geoffrey: I’m not _moping_ , Oliver.  For God’s sake, I’ve had a couple of things on my mind, like my Macbeth refusing to take direction, not to mention seducing my—alienating Ellen—

Darren: _[laying a paint-smeared finger over Geoffrey’s lips]_   Shh.  Save all that for tomorrow.

Oliver: _[muttering peevishly]_   Go ahead, boys, don’t mind the dead man in the corner.

Darren: _[still with his hand on Geoffrey’s mouth, keeping him from speaking]_   The last thing either of us has ever minded is an audience, isn’t that right, Geoffrey?  _[Geoffrey is still looking up at him, not moving.  Darren looks down at him thoughtfully.]_   Still. . .this exercise rather loses its point with the light on.

 

_[He goes over to the door, pulls it shut, and flicks the lights out.  We see his hands and the various streaks of paint on him, plus the paint-pot, glowing in the dark.]_

 

Oliver’s Voice: This is absurd.  It’s childish.  You’re not seriously going to—

Darren’s Voice: Ssh.  Lights are down.  Quiet in the house.

 

_[We see the hands and the pot move through the dark; they approach Geoffrey, who is visible only by the glowing stripes on his face.]_

 

Oliver’s Voice: Geoffrey—

Geoffrey’s Voice: _[quietly]_   Oliver, you can stay or go, but for the love of God, _shut up._

Oliver: _[muttering]_   Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be. . .

 

_[Silence.  The paint pot moves forward; Geoffrey’s fingers dip into it and become visible, then his palms as he smears paint over them.  He places a handprint on Darren’s cheek._

_Darren and Geoffrey start smearing each other with paint, at first tentatively, then with more abandon as they get into it.  We hear them laughing.  Darren starts to sing.]_

 

Darren’s Voice: _[singing]_

What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter,

Present mirth hath present laughter,

 

_[Geoffrey joins in]_

 

What’s to come is still unsure.

In delay there lies no plenty,

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,

_[Oliver joins in]_

Youth’s a stuff will not endure.

 

_[Laughter from Darren and Geoffrey as they continue to smear paint on each other.  It’s not clear exactly what else they may be getting up to over there in the dark.  All we can see is the moving paint splotches.  Camera pans around to the view from where we last saw Oliver standing, and we hear Oliver humming the song again as the sounds from Darren and Geoffrey continue.]_


End file.
